Harem
by antiassasinguy
Summary: “Welcome to Isragard may I commend you on your excellent Harem,” Hunting Isley down never was meant to be this funny. Apology!Fic to Kraven Ergeist.


Disclaimer: I do not own Claymore. This is an extra apology to Kraven Ergeist for the lateness.

Summary: "Welcome to Isragard; may I commend you on your excellent Harem," Hunting Isley down never was meant to be this funny.

**Harem Chapter 01**

Isragard was a city-state mostly isolated from the rest of the world due to its strange customs and bizarre past. Founded some three thousand years ago by foreign settlers, it was a historic city located on the border of the Kingdom, and ran by democracy instead of monarchy. However, this city also held a custom that had been all but discontinued by the cultures outside of the city walls.

The custom of polygamy and patriarchal rule: the custom of Harems.

Raki and the eleven Claymores in his company don't know the meaning of trouble until they were through with this little baby.

Which is why we're throwing it in their direction.

Enjoy.

/-/-/-/-/-/

"I. Hate. The. Sun." came the grumbled voice of Helen, glaring hotly (no pun intended) at the burning orb above the group of a dozen people, as they trudged along the desert, all of them clad in sandy-brown cloaks.

Argor Desert was a wasteland of sand and death. It was the great wall that separated two countries, and quite pssibly the only patch of land where The Organization wouldn't trace due to the vastness of the plane of sand that it was. Upon the horizon was

At the head of the group, stood a twenty year-old Raki.

When one mentioned Raki, one would have associated him with the puny, scrawny, small, helpless and distressed little clingy boy that held onto Clare for support. Determined to change that, he stands before you now a different man from the boy that was… well, portrayed in such a negative light that it was an insult to men.

The Raki of today was significantly taller than that of the Raki of yesterday. Clare's head barely came up to the tip of his chin, and upon his being was the physique not of a muscle-bound freak, but rather, an acrobat. His build was slender, and chiselled, allowing for more dexterity and action than pure force. Clad in a reddish-brown tunic and green vest, a belt of fine skin, dark brown pants and black leather boots of ox hide, this Raki was a _man_. His hair, once scruffy and unkempt was finely combed, styled into a mullet with sandy bangs falling to either side of his head, covering thie scar upon the left side of his forehead.

He still sucked with a sword, though.

But he was a crack shot with a bow.

Miria had the scar to prove it.

Raki walked up the sand dune, trying to get a glimpse of where they were going. In a desert, one tended to get lost, after all. His brown cloak billowing he treaded lightly just so not to sink into the sand.

He hated sand.

"I think we're a good couple of hours from the next city," he spied the silhouette of a town on the horizon.

"Thank the Heavens," Cynthia said, sighing in relief. She had grown fed up of the sand.

Raki, still spying upon the city, turned to the second-tallest member of the group.

_Galatea_.

"Is there something wrong?" came his voice, to which Galatea shook her head.

"No." she replied with a smile, turning to the source of Raki's voice, "We are on the right track. Isley has definitely ventured through this path." She turned back to the horizon, blind eyes viewing what no one else could, "But if he is still here, I cannot say. My Yoki senses in this region have been… chaotic, to say the least."

Isley.

They were hunting for Isley of the North.

They had been for the last 3 weeks. And they had followed his trail here.

"What the Hell's so appealing about a desert?" Helen loudly declared, stomping her foot in the brown substance, "Why must it always be a stinkin' place," she kicked the sand, "that's always so bloody stinkin' miserable?!" she clutched her head and shouted to the sky, "Why can't you go to the TROPICS?! WHAT IS IT WITH BAD GUYS AND LOUSY LOCATIONS?! I. CAN'T. TAKE. THIS. ANYMORE!"

/-/-/-/-/-/

"Phil?"

"Yeah, Brad?"

"I – I have this urge to quit evil and become a priest."

"Huh, same here."

"…"

"Wanna go see if Claymores have orgies after battles?"

"Sure!"

And so, the world mourned the loss of two evil geniuses, Phil and Brad.

/-/-/-/-/-/

"Helen, I really think you should calm down," came the voice of reasoning; the voice of Clarice aka Long Lost Twin Sister of Clare and Uma and Tabitha and Cynthia. "Who knows the dangers of the desert?"

"Dangers? HAH!"

Cynthia, Tabitha, Uma and Miata (who was emotionlessly trailing Clarice) turned away as Helen took out her blade and shoved it into the ground with a force to be believed. Clare sighed; trust Helen to be the first one to lose her cool out of all of them. Deneve just shook her head as she moved away from Helen, not willing to get caught up in one of her bad moods.

Raphaela, the second-most easily annoyed one in their group, glared hotly at Helen.

"Helen, quiet down." Raphaela hissed, "You'll only attract trouble." She hesitated adding "_Especially from my sword_".

"I've been up against Awakened Beings and Male Warriors! There is _nothing_ that can surprise me! Come on world, throw your worst! I'm Helen! I can do anything! WHAT CAN YOU OFFER ME, WORLD?!"

"She's gone insane…" Clare slapped her face against the palm of her hand, eyeing her comrade.

_So _this_ is heat stroke,_ Raki thought, watching the crazy Helen dance around in the sun like some crazy person.

"What about a sixty foot scorpion?" came Clarice's voice. _Uh, Clarice, I think the question was rhetorical._

"How about two sixty foot scorpions?" Uma sounded. _Again, the question was _rhetorical_…_

"Or three?" _Okay, now this getting annoying._

"How about four?" _You're not meant to answer that._

What is it with you guys and Scorpi – ?!

_Oh_.

_Right_.

_That_.

"…"

"There's a sixty foot scorpion behind me, isn't there?"

"Actually, it's more like four."

"Poisonous sting? Crushing pincers? Eight legs?"

"Yeah…"

"…"

"…"

"Bring it on."

/-/-/-/-/-/

_And now, for a short interlude._

"JESUS CHRIST!"

"IT'S A SCORPION!"

"GET IN THE CAR!"

_We now return to your scheduled programming._

/-/-/-/-/-/

"What was that about taking the world on?" Raki poked.

"SHUT UP AND KEEP RUNNING!"

/-/-/AN HOUR LATER/-/-/

"I," _huff_, "hate," _puff_, "the desert." Miria finished, flipping her green blood-covered sword to get rid of the stains.

Around the warrior women and Archer Man (Raki, if you didn't notice) were the bodies of no less than two dozen of the abominations, all of them missing a limb or were embedded with at least half a dozen arrow to their little ugly head. Raki, to his credit, had killed one all by himself (No, Helen chopping off its tail did not count as her kill). The rest had been finished off by the crazy Miata after the others had inhibited their movements and strike capabilities.

"Well, that's the end of that." Galatea smiled serenely.

_Deus Ex Machina._

As they faced down no less than another dozen of those scorpions. Raphaela glared at a now weakly smiling Galatea.

"You _had_ to open your big fat – !"

/-/-/-/-/-/

"Hi, this is your author. And if you're reading this, that means the following scene has been omitted for favour of my nine seconds of fame! Yay me! And now, I will recite to you the ways I shall annoy you - !"

/-/-/-/-/-/

To their credit, the oversized scorpions helped them reach the city faster.

Like, _way _faster.

So now, here they were, at the city gates. A dozen of them. One lucky man and eleven hot women.

Raki's eyes scanned the city entrance. It reminded him a lot of Rabona.

The walls were sandy.

He hated sand.

They looked very old, to say the least, as if they were ruins instead of a current city. The walls measured around sixty feet all, and had guards stationed all over (Raki counted around seven on the wall, looking down to them,a nd the two by the gate). The guards were… oddly dressed, to say the least. They were all heavily armoured in sandy-colored armour (He hated sand), and he wondered how they were able to move. Each of them had a round wooden shield along with a spear in hand.

Raki, who thought that, as The Man (Don't spoil his pride, readers), he would take responsibility to ask for entry and the formal stuff. He would have done so, though.

If it weren't for Miria who came to beat him to the punch.

"My comrades and I have travelled far and – " she began, only to be cut off as swift as lightning.

"Silence, lady. Only your Husband shall speak." It wasn't bitter. It was just as if they were stating a fa –

Wait. _Husband_?!

"You misunderstand. This – !"

"Only your Husband may speak. Your words are second to his. We shall only speak to your Husband."

"BUT – !"

"I am her Husband." Raki spoke; he had got the clue.

Miria had two choices: "_Hide from Clare_" or "_Run from Clare_"

'Cause that's what she'd probably be doing for the rest of her life.

"Ah, about time you spoke. I thought it was a bit insulting you sent a woman to speak on your behalf, young man."

"May I ask you why you wouldn't speak to her?"

The guards looked as though he were mad.

"She is a woman. A woman is not to speak without the permission of her Husband, is she not?" the guard, moustachioed, sent a smirk, "Or is she a feisty one? I remember my Second being a lot like that one."

_Second_? What in the name of – ?

"Er…"

"They _are _under your wedlock are they not, young man?"

"Um, we-ell…"

"If they are not, we cannot allow you entry. No woman must be without chain in our City. It is The Law."

Silence.

It was a dilemma.

You enter and everyone assumes that you're married to a bunch of hot –

_No._

Succumbing to the temptation was not an option.

He couldn't walk ten paces back and talk with them; it'd looks suspicious.

He then looked back to the open desert.

And saw one of the Scorpions giving his The Finger with its claw.

"Yeah, they're my wives." He was going to regret this. It could only end in pain.

The two guards smiled at him. Evil bastards.

"Welcome to Isragard; may I commend you on your excellent Harem," the other guard, a smiley-faced short and dark-skinned man said loud enough for the girls to hear.

The girls were going to _kill _him.

"Blondes get you going, eh? Woo-Hoo!"

Screw that; _Clare_ was going to _eat_ him.

"Now, just state which one is your First Wife…" he presented him with a pad, a quill and some parchment to write. "All the way to your Thirteenth, and you can be on your way."

_Well, at least I'd die a married man. Okay, my First Wife…_

/-/-/-/-/-/

The City was bustling.

And it looked _exactly _like Rabona. Except for the fact all the men and women were covered in robes, and there was a lot of sand on the ground, but he supposed that was acceptable. They were in the middle of a desert, after all. It made sense to have sand. There were also many vendors, and not many children on the streets.

The architecture was unique. The buildings had this feel of… oldness, or something. As if the city had come out from the sand itself.

Before he could take time to appreciate the surroundings, however, Helen had interfered with process.

"You told them we were your _wives_?!" Helen hissed into her newfound _Husband's_ ear, gripping his wrist with a force to be believed.

_Yeah. I did. And I don't regret it. Plus, I got a Harem now; everyone will envy me for having eleven hot blondes!_

He was _so_ tempted to say that. But he doubted he'd survive their wrath.

Although, seeing Clare blush and turn away shyly every time she got a glance of him made him feel pretty happy he made the deal.

"Well, _Honey_," Raphaela's voice was laced with sugar-coated poison. _Hot _sugar-coated poison. "Then, as your wife…" hot breath against his ear. Opposed to Helen's cold words; her were _sinuous_. "I want you to pleasure me until my toes curl and I can't walk straight anymore."

"Hey, I want some Raki-loving too!" Tabitha latched onto his arm like the parasite she was.

"Aw, give me some hot dickings!"

They were joking, right? 'Cuase there was no way his libido could survive _this_ onslaught!

Thankfully, Miria got their attention, so they detached themselves from teasing his very being.

"We should find an inn to stay for the next couple of days." Miria stated; I doubt we're going to survive crossing the rest of this desert with those scorpions out there. She turned to the rest of the group, and then smiled evilly.

Raki didn't like it.

_Especially_ when Miria pressed herself against his front.

Okay, so maybe he did.

"Of course, we'll have plenty of time for hot dickings, don't we, _Hus-Band_?"

Coherency was the last thing on his mind.

Ah, the wonders of the female body.

As a side note, Clare was glaring holes. Again. She'd probably kill someone one day with those.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Getting a place to stay was harder than he thought.

"What do you mean you don't accept foreign money?" Helen started, "It's still gold; see!"

"I'm sorry, but we only accept Deons. You will have to find some place to sell your gear or something. I simply can't accept currency that we don't use here." The innkeeper, a glasses-wearing withered old tree of a man, sat behind his table. "You might want to try some of the merchants. They'll gladly buy anything you own."

Raki sighed behind Helen's form.

"Fine, can you direct us to a merchant, then?" Galatea spoke up. He contemplated a bit.

"Well, since you have such… _exotic_ items, I'd try The Sheikh. He's always interested in odd trinkets." The old man handed him a parchment piece, on which was scribbled the address of the aforementioned merchant.

"We're there. Thank you."

/-/-/-/-/-/

The Sheikh was a fat man. If Raki would have guessed, he was probably the size of a walrus or ten. He was also heavily jewelled and clad in balck and gold robes as he rested upon a lazy chair, a pantheon in the backdrop as he lounged in the open sun, the winds blowing against his transparent curtains as women clad in nothing more than teasing gold jewellery surrounded them.

He also noticed none of them held a candle to the women in his company.

"Greetings, Mr Sheikh." Raki bowed respectfully as the most of the women behind him eyed the Sheikh's Harem with a frown or nervousness. "My name is Raki; my wives and I…" He tentatively used the term _wives_; seeing as he didn't know whether they were exactly happy with it, " are from the West." He looked the man straight in the eye, "I have been told that you are a collector of… the odd trinket."

The sheikh nodded, a bored look set upon his regal (yet fat) visage.

"I am not interested today, for I have many already." He waved them away, "I may be interested tomorrow. Come back then, Mr Raki."

Raki swore under his breath. They'd have to go searchng again. With their luck they'd probably not find one merchant who was interested in what they had to sell.

Bowing respectfully, he thanked the man for his time and turned on his heel.

"Wait, kind Sir!" Then again, their luck may have been turning already.

The Sheikh looked at him, his pudgy hands picking upon the grapes as he turned appreciatively to the jumpy Uma, who was beside Raki, with a gleam in his eyes that proved nothing but gratuitously mischievous, and promised things lewd, perverted and dirty for the panicky girl. The rings adorning his fingers gleamed in the light of the torches' flames.

"How much for one of your wives, Mr Raki?"

The silence was _deafening_.

"Excuse me?"

"Your wives, young man! Your wives! How much for that one?" a fat finger was pointed at Uma now.

The girl's eyes widened fearfully.

"Huh?!" his eyes darted between Uma and The Sheikh, who was eyeing the gold and rubies on his fingers now, but not without the occasional stolen glance towards the second-jumpiest Claymore in the group.

"Your Harem is truly magnificent, Sir Raki, surely you could part with one of your collection?" there was a snap of the fingers, and Raki suddenly found himself face-to-face with a bad of Isragard gold; the currency of the City. "In return I offer you free lodging in my house, and a thousand Deons! Surely this is a price worthy of such a beauty, young sir?"

The women all shifted uncomfortably as Raki suddenly felt all eyes on him.

He was the supposed "Husband" to all these women for as long as they stayed, and ultimately, the reality of the situation dawned on him. He wasn't just The Husband, he was The Master! And the girls… they weren't just wives, they were practically slaves! This was a patriarchal society; the men were in control here, and the women were second-rate, weren't they? Treated as mere objects and trophies; that was what they were. That was their purpose in this world.

He pushed thoughts of BDSM to the back of his mind for future reference.

Before he could speak to reply, Helen had started her tirade.

"Waitaminute, what makes you think we're gonna sell a fellow friend?" Helen could be so noble at times.

"And a grand feast a night for as long as you stay." He added.

"…Well, Uma, it was nice knowing you."

Noble Helen indeed.

"Raki, please don't sell me!" she said tearfully, latching onto the surprised young man and hugging him, afraid to let go. "I'll be good; please don't sell me!"

Clare was not impressed.

"We could use the lodging and gold." She said, much to the surprise of everyone.

Uma squeaked, and held onto Raki tighter as the Sheikh turned an amused look to the group.

Pretty silver eyes looked at him. Both sets. Clare was seething with jealousy at the close proximity Uma had with _her _man, and Uma's own, pleading him with that adorable face of hers. Although not for a moment did she doubt the loyalty and care Raki had in her, it irked her to see Uma of all people latching onto him!

"Um, er…" the cold glare of Clare that clearly indicated burning rage was boring into the side of his head, as his nervousness reached his peak and he (unsuccessfully) tried to pry the scared Uma away from him.

"Sir Sheikh," surprisingly, Raphaela had spoken up. She was now in front of Raki and the panicky Uma, form stiff and unmoving, like a mountain against the howling winds.

Raki could see the shounen waves crashing all around her already.

"Forgive my interrupting, but our _Master_," she held down a smirk at the last word, and put one hand on her hip as she looked to The Sheikh with one undamaged eye, "Is not in the business of selling _any_ of us."

Silence reigned for a good minute, until The Sheikh gleefully clapped his hands together, as if he had been given some fun new toy to play with.

Which wasn't exactly far from the truth.

"Sir Raki, you truly have an _excellent _collection!" he clapped his jewelled hands together as he waved to one of the scantily clad members of his harem, who sauntered over with yet another bag of Deons. "Forget the shy one, give me this feisty one! I offer you _three thousand_ deons and a holiday home!"

Raphaela's single eye widened.

The Sheikh eyed Raphaela's chest with an appeciation to behold, which caused her to hurriedly cover them, as if they were as bare as the day she was born. This was a strange, although, expected, turn. The man was clearly a lech of the highest standards. Jewelled and pudgy, it was no question that he was used to getting what he wanted, and the way he had conducted himself throughout the meeting indicated this manner.

"And before you talk, my scarred beauty," the man leered Raphaela, causing her to recoil with disgust, "you should know your place. In this world, in Isragard, you have no power. As great your influence is outside of this country's walls, over here, your words mean _nothing_." He didn't sound condescending, but just stating a fact. He then looked to Helen, who took a step back as his eyes fixed on her, "You, however, I can make an exception, should you choose to join my Harem, mouthy one. I find that your brash voice is very… _alluring_."

Helen hid behind Deneve at this point.

Raki was in no way rude, brash or overconfident. He was, to people who had ever had the privelege to meet him, polite, mild-mannered and just a bit shy. But seeing the girls being ogled and poked and prodded like cattle annoyed his senses, and boiled his cool to such a point that he could say that he wanted nothing more than to smash the man in front on him in the face and step on his fat stomach.

But he couldn't place any blame on him. It was probably due to the traditions that dictated this little world.

That didn't stop him from being annoyed by him, though.

"I refuse." Clear, simple and perfect. Uma, eyes wide, looked up to the stony-faced Raki, who noticed Uma's grip on him had loosened, and that he was free again (By the Gods, I thank you for this!), "I will not sell any of my wives for all the gold you have. And if you think I'd decide otherwise, think again." He had to say, the cloak billowed rather well. "I came to barter with you for any of my items and that was all. If you are not interested in any of my wares, I shall take my leave."

As he gestured to the girls to follow him, he couldn't help but strike a pose just this once.

It'd make him cooler, wouldn't it?

"They're more than just objects to me."

He left without another word, and the warrior women trailed after him. Galatea, bringing up the rear, paused for a moment, before smiling and exited the chamber, leaving a pudgy man with his gold and women.

…

Give _me_ some of that.

/-/-/-/-/-/

_Great_, Raki thought, as the streets began to look deserted, with all the men women and children ushering into their homes as the sun began to set, _Now where're we going to stay? They don't accept any foreign currency here, and we don't have anything _but _foreign currency._

"Is that a Serpentard skin belt?"

Raki turned around, to see a curly-haired dark-skinned and big-nosed man staring appreciatively at his belt (Or atleast, he hoped it was just the belt). The girls, all hustling behind him, stopped abruptly as Raki appeared startled to the appearance of this rather short and strange-looking red-robed man, who was looking at Raki much more uncomfortably than they wanted.

"It _is_! It truly is a Serpentard skin belt! Such fine quality!" He ran his fingers on Raki's belt, which was around his waist, and caused the girls to frown with disgust and gawk at such an act! The sheer indecency! "I must have it! Young man," he looked up to Raki with manic eyes, and took out a large pouch from bloody _nowhere_.

A pouch full of _money_. Money they _needed_.

"Five-hundred Deons! I must have it!"

No contest, really.

"Yes! Such a fine work of craft; I thank you! Enjoy your gold!" he cried out joyfully, holding onto the belt as though it was the finest treasure known to man. It probably was, to him. "Goodbye, young man!" he finally said, all the while walking away

Galatea walked up to Raki.

"As random as that was… it was quite a fortunate turn of events." Galtea said, listening to the shuffling sounds.

There were nods all round from the group. Except from Clarice.

"Um, I have a question?" Clarice raised her hand.

"What is it, Clarice?" Miria turned to the third-youngest in the group, somewhat relieved at the introduction of domestic gold into their stay.

She twiddled her fingers nervously.

"Er… That is," she bit her lip, irking Miria slightly, before finally continuing, "if Raki sold his belt to that man," she began, "what's holding his pants up _now_?"

It turned out Claymores could faint from blood loss too.

A/N: I enjoyed making this. It made me smile. Next chapter will see to how Miata, Clarice and Galatea met up with the group. And WHO did Raki put up to be his First Wife?


End file.
